Victim Of Your Pain
by LetMeWalkTheEarthWithYou
Summary: Spoiler up to 6x10/ Warning: DARK/ANGSTY / - "Alright, honey," he starts, holding up his hands in surrender. "Do me a favor and put the gun down. Then we can talk." "Talk?" she all but laughs, the gun in her trembling hands. "We're done talking, darling." She almost spits the term of endearment in his face, that cruel smile never leaving her face. / Jane


**Disclamer: I own nothing, everything belongs to their rightful owners.**

**Warning: Spoiler up to 6x10 / DARK/ ANGSTY/- If that's not your cup of tea, please feel free to skip it.**

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**Victim Of Your Pain**

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When he comes through the front door around midnight, he spots her on the couch in the living room. Staring into the flames. And all it takes is a look to know it's one of those nights.

For a moment he just stands there in the dimly lit hallway, thinking about leaving again. And it's not like she would mind, infact it's what she wants. And it probably is what he wants too, because he's sick of dealing with this mess. Sick of dealing with her.

_(But he can't leave her though, can he?)_

He closes his eyes for a moment, bracing himself for what lies ahead. Thinking this isn't what he came back for two years ago and this most certainly isn't the reason why he's still working for the FBI even though he hates every second of it.

He came back for her. The woman he once fell in love with.

But that woman is long gone now. And all that's left is a broken shell, a shadow of her former self or how she loves to put it - her true self. And that's crap of course, but him telling her that doesn't change anything. So he stopped trying to convince her months ago.

He leaves his coat on the banister before making his way into the living room and sinking down on the couch beside her.

"Hey," he says softly, watching her pale face and wishing he could just pull her into his arms. But he knows she would fight him off anyway.

He lets his gaze wander over her small form, her dark curls falling loosely in her face and he can't help but wonder how long she's been sitting there. Just then he spots the gun clutched in her hands.

For a moment he just stares, when she turns her head slowly to look at him.

"You know," she whispers, her words slurred and her pupils dilated. "I thought about setting us free today." With a smug smile on her lips, she's waving the gun at him.

And he just needs one look to know she's high on god knows what and he can't help scolding himself for coming home so damn late. It's his fault. _(All of it)._

"Alright, honey," he starts, holding up his hands in surrender. "Do me a favor and put the gun down. Then we can talk."

"Talk?" she all but laughs, the gun in her trembling hands. "We're done talking, darling." She almost spits the term of endearment in his face. That cruel smile never leaving her face and he can't help but stare at her. Finding something dark inside her eyes, something he's never seen before. Something that scares the hell out of him.

"Teresa, I want you to put the gun down," he tells her again, this time more determined. "Teresa, please."

"Are you scared," she asks him. "I would be scared if I were you."

"Put it down, Teresa. Please."

For a long, long time she just returns his look. Cold. Lifeless. Her gun pointed straight against his head and he wonders if she would be able to shoot him, right there in their own living room. And he has to fight the urge to close his eyes in defeat.

"Put it down, Teresa. Just put it down." He's begging now he knows, but he doesn't know what else to do and begging seems logical.

And then all of a sudden her expression changes and she bursts into laughter, lowering her gun and placing it in her lap instantly.

"You were scared, weren't you?" she asks him playfully. "God, you're so pathetic, honey." And it sounds a lot like a four-letter word.

She's still laughing when she finally tears her gaze away from him and he can't help glaring at her. _(What the fuck was wrong with her?)_

"You just threatened to shoot me and I'm the pathetic one?" He shakes his head furiously, looking down at the gun and thinking about taking it away from her. But the truth is, even wasted she's faster than him and he would probably just end up dead.

"I was just joking,"she answers him obviously annoyed, sounding a lot like a spoiled teenage girl.

"I'm not laughing, Teresa."

"Frankly, I don't care."

"I know," he huffs at her angrily. Not even surprised about her answer. "That's the reason you're working as a small town police chief again and not with the FBI."

"I didn't want to work with them in the first place, you just made me. Remember?"

Of course he does. She reminds him every fucking day.

"You should go to bed," he tells her bluntly. "You're high and I'm not in the mood to deal with this crap again." He doesn't even look at her before standing up and making his way towards the kitchen. He needs a tea to soothe his nerves. And talking to her won't get them any further anyway. It never does.

"We could end it you know," she whispers. Making him stop in the middle of the living room. "Right now. Right here. "

And he just wants to scream in utter frustration. _(Here we go again)._

"I'm not leaving you, Teresa." He tells her sternly, not even turning around again. "You know I'm not going to, just stop trying to manipulate me. You know it won't work anyway."

"I'm not talking about you leaving me."

For a moment he stops dead in his tracks, spinning around to face her a second later.

"What are you talking about then?" he asks her, not sure if he wants to know. Afraid he already knows anyway.

She's smiling a sad smile before placing the gun against her right temple.

"Ending our pain," she explains softly. Sounding completely sober now and he can't believe she tricked him into thinking she wasn't.

"Don't," he whispers. Suddenly horribly aware that this isn't just some drunken behavior. She isn't even drunk to begin with. And yet she's holding a freaking gun in her hands.

"Teresa, please. I beg you put the damn thing down," he tries again. Fear running through his veins and his heart hammering in his chest.

"Why?" she asks him, watching him curiously and he can't help wonder if she's playing him again.

"Because I love you," he tells her straightforward, but she just laughs.

"No, you don't," she answers, her finger dangerously close against the trigger. "You just needed me to keep you alive. And you still do, don't you?"

"Teresa,.."

"Goodbye, Patrick."

Everything else happens in the blink of an eye. He's watching her staring right into his eyes, smiling like the woman he used to love a lifetime ago, before pulling the trigger.

And he's bracing himself for the gun shot, already screaming her name and leaping forward in agony. _(No please. God, please no.) _Imagining her dead body lying on the hardwood floor, her blood soaking the carpet next to the couch. _(No, please. Don't do this to me. Please)._

But the gun shot never comes.

Instead it's her laughter that makes him come back to his senses.

He finds himself kneeling on the floor, blinking furiously until his sight becomes clear and he gets a look at her small form on the couch. Watching him with the gun still pressed against her temple.

"It wasn't loaded?" he asks disbelievingly, feeling like he's about to throw up._ (This can't be happening)_.

"It is," she tells him thoughtlessly. "But there's only one bullet inside."

He's still watching her while she puts the gun down, tracing the rim gently. "I always wanted to play Russian Roulette with you," she tells him, smiling like a kid on Christmas Eve. "It's far more fun than I thought it would be."

And for the first time ever he wants to run. As far away as possible. He has no idea who this woman is anymore. And he doesn't want to know either.

"You're insane," he whispers. Fighting the urge to shake her. _(Has she lost her fucking mind?)_

She's smiling again and he keeps watching her coming closer, bending down to place the gun tenderly in his left hand. Her lips touching his ear briefly when she leans forward. Asking him mockingly.

"And who's the one to blame for that?"

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**Disclamer: I own nothing, Everything belongs to their rightful owners.**

**AN: ********Again thank you to everyone who takes the time to read/review/fav. one of my stories. I'm really grateful for that. And a big thank you goes to my wonderful beta readers clairebare and guineapiggie!**


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